


My father was twice the man

by SpringBee17



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: A how-not-to parent guide for vampire hunters, Bisexual Character, Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, More like Geoffreys infuriating crush on one leechy doctor, Multi, Questioning, Religion, Self-Doubt, Toxic Masculinity, Vampire Turning, not really mccreid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpringBee17/pseuds/SpringBee17
Summary: A look into Geoffreys childhood and his relationship with Carl Eldritch and essentially following his life as he grew up. The title is taken from pride by American authors.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Original Female Character(s), Geoffrey Mccullum/original male characters, Geoffrey mccullum & Carl Eldritch
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. 1888

**Author's Note:**

> And yet another new project! Trigger warning for Ablest language and rhetoric in this chapter folks! You can jump to the end note for more details (I'll just briefly explain were the troublesome parts are)  
> Also, sorry to everyone clicking on this just for the ships, Jonathan doesn't show up until around the ending of the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new project folks! Trigger warning for ablest language and rhetoric in the chapter. You can flip through to the end notes too see what the troublesome parts are.  
> Also, sorry to all of you who clicked on this for the ships, Jonathan doesn't show up til the end. unless you want to stay and read it... idk maybe i'm crazy.

Catherine Mccullum ran down the stairs of her Family's Dublin flat. Her youngest son, Geoffrey, was huddled in her arms and grabbing fists of her long blonde hair. His scared eyes looking up into her face. Smart little devil he was, not a peep out of him as she took him from his bed. The mother knew instinctively that it was too late for her eldest son, Ian. Catherine didn't know where he was after her husband- no, that _Beast_ dragged him from his room. Her eyes blurred with tears for the ten year life Ian had, cut down without a second thought but the woman didn't wipe the tears away and instead let them harden her resolve as she looked for a hiding spot for her youngest son. Her eyes settled on the kitchen cellar. It was a bit obvious, but Catherine knew from many a game of hide-and-seek with her boys that there was many small spaces where a young boy could be stashed. The cellar was dark, moldering and windowless, mildew crept along the walls and the cement floor had a perpetual chill.

She squeezed her son between shelves and bags of flour and heads of turnip. Hoping that the roots strong smell would mask that of her son. His big blue eyes gazed at her. 

'Just six years old and already looking so much like James.' She thought, stroking his brown locks and cheeks. As if the mere thought of her husband summoned his presence, she heard the door creaking as it was opened. Panic seized Catherine's heart and she lifted her necklace off of her neck. It was a simple leather cord with a small ornately carved wooden cross painted yellow and white, a wedding gift from her husband. She kissed the cross and whispered a prayer, then put it around her Sons neck. 

"Don't make a sound" She whispered.

She wasn't about to promise she'd be back.

Geoffrey sat still, but reached for his mother as she left the cellar, closing the door and leaving him in the dark. He heard the rumbling rasp of his fathers voice and his mothers tremulous tone. The six year old counted to twenty two, The number he and his brother agreed upon when playing hide-and-seek, before he slowly and silently crawled to the door, pushing it open just a crack.

His mother had her back to him, blocking her husband from going near the cellar. Geoffrey's Father was seething with rage, his mouth a disgusting grimace of contempt. But that wasn't the most disturbing thing to the boy, no, the most disturbing thing were his eyes; Sunken and blood red and filled with malice. Why were they like that? Was there anything he could do too make it better?

With a hiss his father closed the gap between himself and his wife. He picked her up by her throat as if she was lighter than air. To Geoffrey, time slowed down as he watched his moms feet kick out. James McCullum admired the mother of his sons as if she was nothing more than a fresh cut of meat.

"I'll always love you Catherine, All it would take is the smallest of drops." He said sardonically. "Me, you, and our sons, ruling for eternity,"

"Fuck you," Catherine gasped, it was the first time Geoffrey had ever heard her curse.

The beasts expression changed and he glared at his bride. With a flash of fangs he bit into her neck, Ripping out her throat. She wheezed and gurgled, trying to speak with air seeping from her wound. Geoffrey's father admired her blood running down her fair skin and white nightgown before letting her dying body slump to the floor and drinking from her in earnest. She looked towards the cellar and Geoffrey saw a single tear run down her cheek before she was gone.

Against his better judgement, a sob escaped Geoffrey's throat as he sidled away from the door. James Mccullum's head whipped towards the sound, and he hissed, spraying more blood from his teeth. Geoffrey covered his mouth with a trembling hand as the sounds of heavy footsteps approached the cellar. This was not the same walk of a man of a man with an impish glint in his brown eyes and brown whiskers that scratch when given a hug; this was the stalking of a predator who knew it had all the time in the world, for its prey was small and all alone. The door opened and a beam of light fell mere inches from the boys bare feet.

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey its okay." A soft voice cooed, " _Come out,"_

The Command seemed to rattle around the inside of Geoffrey's skull and made the back of his eyes ache. He shook his head and shuffled further away.

"If you come out, you can be like your brother and I, free to play as long as we want!"

The boy didn't move and shut his eyes, his mothers cross a comforting weight while he prayed for his father to go away.

Before he knew it, Rough hands ending in claws were pulling him out of the cellar by the legs. He shrieked and attempted to scramble away and his fathers claws raked his legs. He watched petrified as his fathers bloodied maw came closer and closer. But miraculously, the creature shrieked, and leapt away from his eyes, wiping its eyes as if blinded by the sun. Geoffrey scuttled back into the cellar. He shut the door and tried all his might to bar it with the items at eye level and those he was able to lift. He lodged himself into the farthest corner from the door and said a prayer. He could here the monstrous impostor shifting and scratching at the door.

"I forgive you for hurting me lad, a hug would make it all better, yes, a hug, but make sure to take off that bloody cross!"

Geoffrey Mccullum shivered as he willed the creature not to enter. He hugged his knees and balefully watched the door as time ticked on.

* * *

"What a fuckin' nightmare," Carl Eldritch muttered. flicking the butt of his cigarette into a puddle.

a Priwen patrol milled about the quiet Dublin neighborhood. An informant notified the commander and his guards about an Ekon attack. The neighborhood was quiet at half past three in the morning, it was not the richest of areas but it was clean and well taken care of. It was odd that a vampire would be around these parts and Carl wished that that particular informant was still around to tell the what they were up against before he and his men went in. His patrol consisted of five Guards beside himself; a rookie cross-bearer with the build of a boxer named David Emerson, Two gunners, one red headed named Richard Dawson and a raven haired man with dark skin named Silas wilks, a disgraced doctor named Archer Conroy served as the medic, and finally a big-bellied, brunet brawler he couldn't quite remember the name of.

The House was decent enough, having belonged to a small time traveling businessman and his family. He called over Emerson and the Brawler and told them to sweep the house with him. The other three were posted to lookout.

what a carnage, the smell of gore tickled the guards nostrils. Blood was everywhere, even the ceiling where it was dripping down to form half dried puddles on the floor. a woman was sprawled among the gore like an angel that fell to the earth. Carl Eldritch looked to Emerson and noticed how green the rookie was.

"You can leave if this is too much" He grumbled. 

The cross-bearer smiled gratefully and hastily made his way back out to fresh air. Carl'll just make it up by putting him on a graveyard shift. The commander noticed Foot prints in the blood, they tracked this way and that across the kitchen as if the beast was pacing a cage. The Brawler pointed to the same prints, fresh, leading up the stairs. Carl Eldritch looked closer. None heading back down, The beast must still be upstairs then.

He gestured for the nameless brawler to follow and he crept up the stairs. Carl Eldritch could hear as the creature shifted and murmured to itself. A higher voiced answered, Like that of a child. His eyebrows rose and he turned too face the brawler with two fingers in the air. It wasn't unheard of for leeches to turn kids.

They reached the top of the stairs and peered around the banister into the first room on the landing. Empty. The men, crept toward the second door, this was the room the voices were in. The brawler stepped on an unsettled floorboard and the floor groaned. Carl rolled his eyes as the voices in the room ceased and the chill of displaced air washed over them. Bloody cowards.

Carl took his gun out of its holster and removed his sword from its scabbard. Motioning to the brawler, he stepped into the room. It was silent as the grave and his hair on his neck rose as goose flesh prickled his arms. Something wasn't right.

An unnoticed shadow caught his eye from behind the door and he fired his pistol. The beast revealed itself with a growl. The brawler battered back the Ekon as he came into the room, Eldritch unloaded his magazine into it and the Beast retaliated with a spear of blood. It must've been a new born as it fumbled with it's throw and the spear sunk into the floor between the Brawlers long legs. The shooting only managed to piss it off and it lunged at him. Carl thrust his sword upward and it impaled the Beast through the heart. It gurgled and thrashed weakly before going still, a small dribble of blood trickling from its mouth. He laid it on the floor, pulled his sword out and cleaved its head of in two swings. He took a deep breath and ran his hands threw his white-blond hair, painting it a cruddy red. There was no sign of the kid-ekon. That was a hunt for another night.

The two men didn't say a word as they made their way down the stairs. The flat was to be burnt along with the corpses and any evidence that would be carelessly left behind by Priwen. Corpses... something was at the back of Carl Eldritches mind. The informant told him that there was a family of four that lived in this house; a wife and husband and their two sons. It could be assumed that the body in the kitchen was the missus, and the Beast must've been her husband. The kid-ekon could easily be one of the boys. But where was the other one?

The hunter scanned the room, sensing a change. There! his eyes settled on the door to the Cellar. It was battered and beaten, Long claw marks marred the old wood. It was open, Carl could've sworn it was closed when they first went into the flat. He crept to the door and opened the door the rest of the way. It was dark, void incarnate. He lit a match and peered into the semi-darkness, the last second before the match burnt out a movement caught his eye. He lit another match, drawing a stake from his coat.

"commander?" the brawler trailed off as Carl walked farther into the cellar. Something thumped softly against his boot and he looked down to see a bag of flour seeping its contents over the floor. Other small things were piled against the door. He looked between the shelves and saw a small face peering back. He gasped and took a few steps back. 

"Find me a lantern!" He barked and the boy flinched away from his voice.

He heard the brawler as he fumbled around, looking for a lantern. Carl went to the doorway and snatched the oil lantern from his meaty hands, lighting it with one of his five remaining matches.

" Go tell the medic to be prepared, we got a bleeder," he ordered.

The Brawler frowned sympathetically before leaving with a mumbled _'yessir.'_

Now that he could see better. He took a good look at the boy; He was cramped into a corner, clutching a small wooden cross pendent in one hand and brandishing a small butter knife in the other. He wet himself in fear, and his nightclothes stuck to him, His legs were scratched and bruised. Tears and snot stained his face and he was shaking like a leaf but there was a defiant jut to his chin and his blue eyes, though blood shot, were alert.

"What's your name, lad?" he asked gently.

The boy didn't respond. He asked the same question but in the little amount of Gaelic he knew. The kid seemed to understand this better but still didn't speak. Carl crouched in front of him.

"It's okay." The commander said while pulling his own Rosary out from underneath his shirt to show him. "God protects hunters like us, It's how we tell between the righteous and the monsters,"

He didn't know if the boy spoke english, but the kid seemed to understand that he wasn't going to hurt him as he dropped his blunt knife and leaned exhaustively against the wall. Carl Eldritch offered his hand and the boy accepted it, standing up. 

They left the cellar together. The boy holding onto the leg of his Trousers. The corpse of the boys mother stared glassily up at the cellar. The boy started to whimper.

"Don't look, little one," Carl said while slowly holding his hand in front of his eyes.

The boy shook the hand off and stared wordlessly at the body, eyes swimming.

They made it outside and Carl lifted the boy into the back of the truck and wrapped an itchy tartan blanket around his exposed body. The boy watched inquisitively as conroy fussed about him.

Carl Eldritch stood back and lit up another cigarette, pondering what to do with the lad. Usually Priwen protocol dictated that any unharmed children are left with remaining relatives or at the doorsteps of orphanages. But that seemed unjustified to the boy who had been through so much, besides, he still wouldn't talk so there was no way of knowing his family. The commander thought of how the boy brandished a knife and stood death in the face in a bloodied kitchen and he still stood tall and strong. As young as the kid was, Carl had to admit that the boy had a pair. His thoughts were disrupted as the medic called him over and led him out of earshot. a Nervousness was in the green eyes of the doctor.

"What do you plan on doing with him sir?" Archer Conroy asked.

Carl shrugged, "He hasn't spoken yet, keep him with us until he tells his name I s'pose,"

"with all due respect sir, I don't think he'll ever speak again,"

The commanders eyebrows rose.

"Its common with children with traumatic experiences." the medic said with a sniff. "I've also heard tell between other Priwen medics that individuals who unknowingly resist a vampires thrall can go mute, It..it scrambles their mind see,"

"So you're telling me he's an invalid?"

"Oh no, it goes away with time, but in other cases..." The medic trailed of, sighing.

Well. he couldn't very well turn the lad unto the streets now could he? A mute boy would have little chance of surviving. But if the boy unknowingly resisted a thrall... That amount of willpower was rare, the only other person he came across like it was that of his own mentor, Kendall Stone. He looked to the boy, besides from not talking and scared shitless, he seemed to be normal. He was watching the guards around him with wide, suspicious eyes.

"I think he'd make a fine Vampire Hunter,"

Archer scoffed, "Sir, this is a child, not one of your hounds you can train up,"

"But you said it yourself, he resisted a thrall," The hunter replied.

"I said he might have,"

"Well, we can't bloody leave him at an orphanage!" Carl yelled.

The medic went silent, knowing his commander was right. a Potentially brain damaged boy would be vulnerable to the more sadistic side of life. an Orphanage would just be a half-way house to an institution or a jail cell but at least with the guard he'd have a roof over his head and food in his belly. The medic sighed and wandered away, too proud to admit That his commander was right.

Carl Eldritch made his way back to the boy who was now nibbling Hungrily on a soda cracker a Guard gave him. He flashed a small, gap-toothed smile. Carl returned the gesture with a tight lipped smile of his own. He noticed Dawson and Wilks walking towards the house, toting cans filled with kerosene. 

"Brothers, wait!" Carl ordered.

The hunter hurriedly made way into the house and went up the stairs. He remembered seeing toys scattered on the floor of the first room and went into it. The room had two beds in it, a breeze blew from a window wedged between the beds and the hunter shut it. He made his way over to the one dresser in the room and started to sift through it. He pulled out some clothes, trying to visualize if it would fit the lad outside. He accepted that either way the clothes would be good enough, He saw a briefcase in the next room and Straddled over the boys father on the floor. He put the clothes in it and went back downstairs. Halfway through the kitchen, a tintype photograph on the wall caught his eye. It was a family photo, They were all dressed in their sunday best, The mother had a baby swaddled in her arms and the father had a pudgy toddler sitting on his lap. The hunter took the photo out of its frame and noticed an inscription on the back.

_'The Mccullums'_

_James, Catherine, Ian and little Geoffrey_

Carl pocketed the photo and headed out of the house. He set the case beside the boy and showed him the photo, pointing at the babe.

"Are you Geoffrey?" He asked.

Geoffrey Mccullum nodded rigorously and took the photograph, tentatively touching his fathers face. A scowl bloomed on his face and Carl smiled. The Patrol was starting to make their leave,The brawler and Emerson crawled on to the back of the truck and adjusted the canvas tarpaulin that covered them, The medic sidled into the cab. The two gunners will stay and observe the fire, making sure all evidence is aptly destroyed, they'll ride with the next patrol back to base. Usually Carl Eldritch rode in the cab. But tonight he Hopped into the back and settled down beside the boy, a protective arm around his shoulders with a quick head count he banged on the side, The truck sputtered too life and started to move.

Geoffrey watched his childhood home go up in flames, getting smaller and smaller as the truck rolled away. The truck turned a corner and the flat faded from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. The potentially triggering part is when Carl Eldritch talks to the medic about Young Geoffrey Mccullum, It mentions some offensive language and some ablest rhetoric.


	2. 1888 (continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I split up the first chapter because i felt like it would have been way too long if I kept going. also, Im seriously motivated from kudos and comments! Like, never noticed exactly how motivating it was.

The base of the Irish faction of the Guard of Priwen was located four and a half hours west of the city down a secluded road. Geoffrey Mccullum fell into a restless sleep, the boys head resting in his rescuers lap, The hunter mindlessly played with his dark brown hair while talking to his men. The Guards Quickly accepted that the boy was going to live with Carl. The boy was practically a fetus still, that was too young to be out on his own or crammed with degenerates in an orphanage, Carl had said. But the commander was calculating and the Guardsmen knew that he wouldn't take a risk like this unless he felt it was worth it.

Geoffrey awoke to the sound of his savior speaking in English to the other soldiers. That's what they had to be, Right? they looked and acted as the little boy expected soldiers to look and act. The English sounded foreign and jilted to him. Of course he could speak it, but his parents always made an effort to speak in their native tongue around their sons. He wish he could join the conversation, but try as he might, he couldn't and it frightened him almost as much as the monster did. It was like the proverbial cat got the boys tongue and he couldn't clear the ensuing hairballs from his throat. He looked up at his rescuer, who he heard the soldiers call Carl Eldritch, was tall and muscular, and from his lap his torso seemed to stretch forever. He had short blond hair and a thick mustache creeping up his nose, His Eyes were a muddy brown and lined with crows feet.

Geoffrey pulled his self out of the strangers lap, rubbing grit out of his eyes. a hole in the tarp revealed to him endless green fields, dotted with livestock. It was mid morning now and golden rays of sun poked through thick gray clouds. The truck rumbled onto a wooded road filled with ruts, the bumps making the boys body jolt and the stranger put his arm over him to stop him from being launched out of his seat. after a while the truck bounced to a stop. Geoffrey Mccullum watched as the soldiers jumped from the truck and he followed suit on wobbly legs.

They were on an isolated farm; The house was large with ivy creeping up its stone walls, A hundred yards away from the house was a large barn, which made the boy wonder excitedly if there was animals, a small vegetable patch grew carrots, potatoes and heads of cabbage. More soldiers were bustling around, speaking in small groups, doing chores, coming back in trucks just like their own or sparring in a large circle of red painted on the ground in a corner of the yard. Carl Eldritch walked towards the house with a hand on his shoulder and when the soldiers saw him coming they would stop and stand in attention, gawking at the small, dirty boy with their commander. 

The interior of the house was spacious and more soldiers greeted him inside it. Geoffrey realized it was more like a manor than a home. He looked up at the man beside him, Surely this wasn't his home? oh how he wished he could ask him. He was lead up the stairs, there was a long hallway with some rooms on both sides. His guide took him down the hallway into a bedroom. the room was modest, a bed next to a window, an oaken bookshelf standing opposite of it. beside that there was a desk. 

"This is my room, you can stay here for the day," Carl said, putting the case of clothes down on the bed.

He looked at the kid, He was filthy, he was still in his soiled nightwear and there was blood on his legs, his face was tear stained and grime was caked on his hands from being in the dank cellar for so long. Carl Eldritch was not a very materialistic man, but the state of Geoffrey made him fear for the safety of his bed sheets. He told the boy to wait there and went downstairs to the kitchen to heat some water for the boy. as the water was being heated, a man entered the room. He was well dressed and thin with a receding hairline and a narrow face, Carl Eldritch Thought he looked like a horse. The mans name was Alexander Finnegan, the owner of the land the base was situated on and one of The Guard of Priwens Benefactors. Alexander was a banker, and used the farm as a summer home, he was rarely there during other seasons. Besides from the exchange of funds, Carl Eldritch didn't deal with him, it was only because he was in his home that he saw the man. 

"Mister Eldritch, are you aware of the child that followed you home?" The posh man asked.

The commander nodded.

The banker pursed his lips, "I've allowed your men to stay in my home, But I will not Tolerate some Dublin street-rat,"

"funny you should say that, considering most of my men were street rats," Eldritch said dismissively.

"I'd hold you're tongue if I were you, it would do you well to remember who you're talking too,"

Carl Eldritch mentally chastised himself. It was foolish to provoke someone so important to their cause. While he doubted the banker would be able to hold his own in an altercation, He could harm Carl and his men in different ways. He hated himself for having to bow and scrape to higher society but he literally had an army to feed and couldn't afford to lose any funding. Carl sighed, rubbing his temples.

"You're right, sir, I'll bring him with me to London, I'm leaving in three days," 

he banker nodded smugly, "See that you do," The kettle whistled. Carl excused himself and made his way back up to the room. 

Geoffrey was leaning on the window sill, looking at the copse of trees that surrounded the farm and the hills beyond. It was amazing, All he's ever seen was the stuffy streets of Dublin, He saw the world in books his father brought home but never realized how truly big it all was. He was startled from his daydreams of grand adventures and wild schemes when Carl rapped on the frame of the door with his knuckles. He watched silently as the commander took a wash basin from atop a tall wardrobe and set it on the desk, filling it with warm water from a kettle and grabbing a bar of soap.

Carl helped the boy get washed up, scrubbing blood and dirt from his arms and legs and gently washing his face. His ministrations were slow and cautious, he never had kids, giving all of his time to the cause, worry and doubt clouded his mind. He talked to the boy while he was helping him, explaining what had happened the night before, that the impostor in his home wasn't his father and that because of this encounter he may never have a normal life.

"But, you're free to live with me in London, I'll protect you, and when you get old enough, you can join me on my hunts,"

The Boy looked at him, an unasked question in his eyes. _Can I trust you?_

The hunter nodded as he laid out clean clothes on the bed and told the kid to strip so he could wash his pajamas, leaving the boy some privacy to wash the rest of himself. When Carl came back to the room Geoffrey was half dressed and struggling to do up the buttons on his shirt. He helped and tucked him into his bed. Drawing the curtains he started to leave leave, but a little hand shot out and grabbed his own. The boy looked up at him with scared eyes. Of course, Carl Eldritch should have thought of that; The boy had watched the murder of his family alone from within a cramped dark cellar. He had the right to be frightened in this new place.

 _'that and he probably is not used to sleeping_ alone' The hunter thought to himself as he thought of the extra bed in the boys room. Carl opened the shades again, letting weak sunlight illuminate the dust motes in the air. He sat down at the desk and pulled a wooden stake out of his pocket. Making himself comfortable, Carl lit a cigarette and faced the doorway. Guarding the room. 

Satisfied that his rescuer wasn't going anywhere, Geoffrey laid back down on the pillows and fell asleep thinking of London.


	3. 1889

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey meets his weapon of choice and Carl Eldritch makes a prototype, Geoffrey speaks his mind about Slippery stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for obvious reasons this fic is going to have A lot of time jumps. this one takes place a year after the first two chapters and Geoffrey is seven years old. (duh) also, I've made a mistake as in to not include everyone favorite uhm, Slur? Anyways I kept using the words beast or vampire in the place of leech despite the word being in some in-game lore written by kendall stone AND Carl Eldritch. whoops.

Geoffrey Mccullum had settled in nicely to the guard of priwens Nocturnal lifestyle. Everyone knew of commander Eldritches ward but save to a couple of old vets grumbling about the sanctity of tradition and protocol, the lad was well taken care of and respected. The younger Guardsmen jokingly thought of the seven year old as Priwens mascot and treated him as their little brother, They'd laugh and joke around with the mute boy and slip him extra food at meals, When he wasn't following their commander like a shadow around headquarters, chances were he was helping in the mess hall, wrestling with the rookies or fencing with guards using a wooden sword against their very real one. 

Much to Carl's delight, his protegee was bright and sharp-witted. He excelled under Carl's tutelage; He could read and write and do sums off the top of his head. Carl often set up scavenger hunts to test his problem solving and his tracking abilities. Geoffrey even created a rudimentary language of hand symbols that only those in the guard knew and the seven year old had a mouth that would make the meanest of nuns weep, but he didn't dare swear in front of the commander, he still felt his cheek stinging if he thought of the smack.. The hunter ignored said ward hovering over his shoulder as he tinkered with a prototype gun. The boy walked around to the front of the desk so he was in the commanders sight. 

"What you doing?" he signed, he was still thinking of a gesture for 'are'.

Carl Eldritch explained his vision for the weapon. In his mind the pistol will be able to fire off up to five rounds at once with tremendous force. 

"But stand clear now," Carl said, he still had problems with the guns hammer, and he'd hate for anything to happen to his protegee. He had big plans for him.

The boy nodded and wandered down the hall towards his room. Carl enjoyed the few moments to himself, The boy didn't even have to talk, all he had to do was walk in a room and take command of it. Geoffrey came back into the room, a stack of books balanced precariously in his arms. Distracted, Carl looked at the titles; The adversary by Kendall stone, a book from the brotherhood of st-pauls stole regarding nimrods, and a book of Irish folktales that Carl Eldritch bought the kid when they were leaving his home country. The boy sat in the corner of the room and flipped open the book of tales and started reading, Carl Eldritch focused on his prototype.

A half hour later, Carl Eldritch sat up and stretched, his bones cracking. The gun was just about done, and he finally felt it was stable enough to test. He stood up and left the room, Geoffrey followed close on his heels. 

The Headquarters of The Guard of Priwen was split between two buildings in Southwark; The first was an old tenement building that served as the barracks, offices and mess hall. There were twelve apartments on the first floor and each one at most housed four guards, that is, the ones that stayed there and didn't live at other outposts or had homes of their own to return too. Carl Eldritch was the exception, He and Geoffrey shared the thirteenth apartment and had it to themselves. The bottom floor had the walls knocked out of it and served as the mess hall. The second building was a warehouse a block away donated by an anonymous benefactor. The door most often used by the guard was accessible by taking a shortcut in an alley across from the tenement. The warehouse had two uses, it served as their armory and as their training grounds, The hiss and clank of nearby factories and foundries drowned out the report of gunfire.

Some of the men joked that Geoffrey was like a mother goose with Geoffrey trailing after him and it was true enough as the boy was skipping and kicking rocks a few metres away. Carl kept a keen eye on the boy and his hand on the pommel of his sword. Southwark was always a hub of vamp activity and the boy would make a quick snack for a skal or ekon Or even the rare vulkod he'd have the unfortunate luck to encounter.

They walked down the alley across the street from the tenement. Many of the guards called it the 'rat-trap'. It was long and narrow, the cobbles uneven and in the winter ice made it treacherously slippery. Despite this, dozens upon dozens of crosses where scrawled across the walls-one drawn in memorial for each fallen Priwen Guard and each was uniquely stylized by the dead's closest friends and loved ones. If one was ever pursued by a bloodsucker down the alley, a mumbled prayer could trap the beast and allow them to make a getaway or finish it off. Carl couldn't remember the name that first started the tradition, that had been before his time. But he liked the poetic Justice about the thought. Like the departed were still looking out for their brothers in arms. The alley opened up onto the yard of the warehouse and Carl nodded to the watchmen loitering outside a side door.

The interior of the warehouse was always dim to allow for the hunters eyes to adjust to darkness. Fire barrels sputtered halfheartedly around the space and the few light bulbs that were not broken by discordant projectiles were grimy and flickered weakly. The warehouse itself was split into two spaces, on one side was a crude ring for sparring, swordplay and physical training, on the other was a shooting range with the armory through a small door that led to a large converted office. The armory door was kept locked and no one was allowed to access it unless they had authorization and a good enough reason. Carl took a ring of keys and inserted the first one in. The door opened with a click.

Despite tagging along with Guards for the better part of a year, Geoffrey had never been to the range side of the warehouse, and good thing too as Carl would've skinned someone alive if he found out that someone taught his adoptive son to shoot. Geoffrey looked around the armory. Along three of the walls were weapons racks bearing pistols, muskets, rifles and crossbows, Across the back wall there was a map of the British isles, in the center there was a low table, swords and half carved stakes laid across it and underneath there was crates of ammo, each meticulously labelled. Near the doors, barrels of kerosene, gunpowder and orichalcum were stored away from flames. 

Geoffrey's caretaker went over to the ammo crates, muttering to himself. Geoffrey caught his gaze and he flicked a hand towards the a wall of crossbows.

"Take one, best for you to learn early on," He grumbled, then turned back to fussing about the boxes.

Geoffrey eagerly made his way over to the weapons rack, the lowest bow was still not quite in his reach and he stretched tall to grab the bow, only to not be tall enough to remove it from its bracket. Carl Eldritch saw the boys plight and chuckled as he effortlessly plucked the bow from its bracket. Much too Geoffrey's chagrin he ruffled the boys already tangly hair as he held out the crossbow. The boy scowled as he took it. It was heavier than he expected, and he had to use both hands to make sure he didn't drop it.

"Ah, don't worry runt, You'll grow soon enough," Eldritch called over his shoulder as he made his way back out the door and into the gun range.

Carl dragged a wooden target out into the middle of the room then turned to the boy who was hugging the crossbow to his chest. Carl went over the mechanics of the weapon and differentiated between the stock and fore-grip, the trigger and the safety, then went on a long spiel about how while they were good for training they were practically useless.

  
"By the time you load up another bolt, the bastard leech has already gotten away!" 

After his rant, Carl helped Geoffrey shoot the bow. He guided Geoffrey's left hand toward the front of the bow, and rested the stock against his right shoulder, Geoffrey aimed, Carl notched the bolt and turned the safety off. Geoffrey pulled the trigger.

The arrow hit the target with a crack, It was slightly off the mark, having hit a few centimetres away from the dead center. Not bad, but not bad would not drop a leech. While the boys training was important, he was still young and Carl had many other things too do that night. Geoffrey put the crossbow down and Beamed up at him.

"We'll shoot some more in a moment Geoffrey, what i want you to do now is stand at the wall behind me," Carl said.

The boy nodded and ran over to the wall. Carl took out the prototype out of its modified holster, he loaded it up and cocked back the hammer. He aimed the gun and took a few breaths, testing his inventions always made him nervous, he never knew what would happen. He took one more breath then fired.

The first thing he noticed was just how much _louder_ it was. The shot reverberated off the walls and made his ears ring like the devil. The target was obliterated by the shot. He looked at Geoffrey, who was crouched down with his hands covering his ears. 

"Well, It has some Bark to it!" Eldritch said, he didn't realize he was yelling.

* * *

Despite the boy being well settled into the Life of the Guard, that didn't stop the nightmares. Carl Couldn't count the days that he lost sleep because of the boy crying out in his slumber.

Carl Eldritch assumed that this day would be no different, It was around midday, and he hurried down the hall to the lads room in fear of the boy hurting himself or disturbing the Guards that slumbered next door. Geoffrey was Writhing in his bed and kicking his legs out, Carl gently shook him. No matter how bad the nightmare, The boy was always still as he woke up, His screams's would cut off and he'd lay their blinking before he started crying in earnest. This day was no different. Carl pulled the boy into a rare hug as he started to sob. Carl was never a truly affectionate man, while he never had biological children, He figured that affection given to a boy too late made him weak and cowardly, like those toffs living in the west end, not enough spine to take care of their own problems and so they sent the police. Hugs were a comfort or a reward, that is all. He carded his hand through the boys brown hair and rubbed soothing circles on his back. The boy whimpered.

"M-ma," a shaky voice hiccuped.

The hunter stilled his hand and his eyebrows shot to his hairline, He couldn't have heard that right? No, He must've fired Barker too close to his head during the last nights patrol. There was no way that Geoffrey, his boy, just talked. He pulled the boy back and looked down into the boys watery eyes. The boy looked as shocked as he was.

"Did you just talk?" he asked incredulously.

The boy opened his mouth as if too speak again, but the words fell short. Carl Eldritch pulled on his coat and raced across the tenements rickety patio, he pounded on the fourth door. Archer Conroy, who had been promoted to head medic opened the door, rubbing his eyes and scowling. He snapped to attention when he realized the commander was at his door, never mind that they were both in their underwear.

"the boy talked!"

That was all it took to get the doctors attention, Carl understood it himself; If the boy's silence was inadvertently caused by a vampires thrall, they could be on a cusp of a scientific discovery that could rival the progression of the traitors in the brotherhood. If they learnt to screen for the attribute of willpower in their recruits the strength of The guard would be unrivaled. The two men found the boy sitting on his bed right where Carl left him.

Conroy fussed about the boy, Checking his throat and tongue, checking his eyes and having the child try and pronounce different phonetic sounds. Carl stood watching from the door, not wanting to get in the way of the doctor.

"There seems to improvement, keep to a routine, it can only help,"

Carl scoffed, all Priwen was was a bundle of routines, and he knew, he wrote the patrol routes, between Geoffrey's schooling, and his duty as the commander, his entire life was ruled by the routine. And he wouldn't have it any other way, surprises were often deadly in this line of work. He nodded and escorted the doctor back to his rooms. When he came back Geoffrey was standing by his rooms tiny window, his head tilted towards the sun. The commander beckoned for the child to sit down and then sat beside him. 

He hadn't told Geoffrey about his plans for the boy or of his theory, not yet, let him be a child a little longer. His gaze shifted around the room as he searched for the words to say. His eyes met the picture he stolen from the boys childhood home, The boy had defaced his father, scratches and gouges marred the image until the man no longer had a face. He met the eyes of Catherine Mccullum. Would she be proud of what her boy was too become? Or would she weep from her heavenly perch for an innocence lost too young? a Hunter stalking the shadow, barely to see the sun again. And what of Ian Mccullum? Presumed dead like his younger brother by the world, presumed undead like his father by Priwen? Would Geoffrey have the strength to end his unholy life if it came to that? For once, Carl Eldritch questioned his decision for the boy and doubt clouded his mind as he thought of the expectation he put on the boy and on himself. He looked into Geoffrey's eyes. They were still wide with child-like wonder.

"It's no coincidence that i asked you to live with me." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I suspect you have... a gift. One that would make you a damn fine hunter, one of the best,"

Geoffrey frowned, a gift? When in his life had he been fortunate to be unlike anyone else? His mind was a flurry of questions and he was frustrated that his hands were not nearly as fast enough to ask them all. The commanders rough voice pierced his thoughts.

"what do you remember from that night Geoffrey?"

The boy shivered. Too much and too little. He remembered the look of anger on the vampires face, the way his mothers eyes were frozen on his own as she went to her rest. The terror of seeing Carl's large frame silhouetted in the doorway and the relief he felt when he realized he wasn't going to harm him. Geoffrey clutched his mothers necklace, he hadn't taken it off since that night. 

The true bane of his rest and haunter of his dreams, however, was the skull-rattling voice of his father as he tried to coax him out of the cellar. Carl had told him about thralls, how the strongest of vampires, ekons, could get mortals to do as they say and that his father was most likely an ekon. Even the times he didn't wake up screaming, he woke with a pesky headache between his eyes and his ears ringing. It went away after he stayed still with his eyes clenched tight for a few moments, The boy never made a connection until that moment. He looked up into his mentors face.

"Your will is strong, Geoffrey, Strong as iron and it influences your entire being, the way you carry yourself. If we can train your psyche to resist thralls, you could be a great hunter like Kendall stone. And a damn fine leader as well," Carl declared, the words carried a weight to them.

Geoffrey had heard the Guards tell stories about Kendall Stone. The scientist turned Warrior and founder of the Guard of Priwen. It was rumored that like the priests, He could see through shadows and walk through thralls like there were merely nursery rhymes.

"But I don't want to test it until you talk, it could hurt your noodle." Carl said, poking the boy in the forehead. "Promise me you'll keep trying?"

Geoffrey looked to the picture of his family and nodded.

* * *

Geoffrey Mccullum regained his voice on a Sunday. For the better part of two months he'd been trying his hardest to speak. He'd mouth the words as he signed them, and when he had some solitude he'd try and repeat the sounds that Conroy spoke to him that night.

It was November and he and Commander Eldritch (If he was to become a real Guard, he'd have to act like a guard, no more calling his mentor by only his first name) and a couple other Guards were planning to attend a lent celebration at the nearest Church. A Guard presence at churches were a great way to get people to support the guard, while they weren't expecting anyone in the poor borough to donate to their cause, it was good to let people know that their streets were protected. He struggled to tie his tie in Commander Eldritches cracked mirror and then five minutes later, decided to leave the tie. He instead tied his red priwen scarf over his neck and threw on his coat. 

He was already running late, The rest of the departing Guards were gathered in the courtyard, like a small midnight blue sea plattered with drops of blood. Geoffrey hurried out the door, paying no heed to his footing on the slick stairs. He was halfway down the stairs when he slipped on a patch of ice. The boy tumbled down the stairs, smacking his forehead off the frigid ground. Carl Eldritch rushed over to the boy, and called for a medic. Geoffrey opened his eyes and saw stars as an unfamiliar medic knelt towards him. He struggled to stay awake and the world faded to black.

When the boy came to he was in a room, it wasn't his, and it wasn't his mentors, sunlight streamed in through gauzy white curtains and he laid in a pristine bed. Carl Eldritch was sat in a chair in the corner of the room. But his surroundings weren't the only thing that changed. The cat-got-your-tongue feeling was gone, and his throat felt clear.

"where am I?"

Carl jolted from his thoughts, he looked at the boy. smiling.

"you talked!"

The boy nodded, grinning fro ear to ear. Carl leaned forward. 

"Can you tell me what this says?" Carl said pointing at an outdated newspaper on the nightstand.

"The seventh horrible murder by the monster of whitechapel," Geoffrey said, voice hoarse from disuse. to Carl's mild surprise, he still had an Irish brogue.

Eldritch cheered and clapped the boy on the shoulders.

"You're at Pembroke hospital lad, apparently that fall did more than knock your bolts loose,"

a nurse bustled in and saw that he was awake and bustled back out of the room. A short while later there was a doctor in a white coat, checking him over. It felt weird to the boy to communicate to someone outside of Priwen. The doctor was satisfied and told him they could leave but told Carl not to allow Geoffrey to do anything strenuous. 

Carl nodded and promised the doctor. He wondered briefly how much this visit would set back Priwen and if he could somehow bribe one of their funders into paying it. 

The mood that night when the duo got back was jubilant, apparently, Carl was not the only one that was hoping he'd regain his voice. Carl canceled patrols for the evening and the men played music and danced and drank. Geoffrey watched happily in the corner of the room. Carl left them to their devices and watched as black smoke from the stacks obscured the stars and moon. He won't be able to make an excuse for not testing his wards willpower now that he could talk. Now that the boy was whole he couldn't deny that he seemed too commandeer more of the room as his confidence grew. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, inhaling in the acrid smoke. It intimidated him and then he felt stupid for being afraid of a seven year old. He just hoped that Geoffrey would not be lead down the wrong path. He finished his cigarette and went back to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm sorry to any archery nuts about my poor instruction as too how to shoot a crossbow, I've never even seen one in real life before so all my knowledge came from the internet. Also, say what you want about a range being inside a dim warehouse. Don't try this at home folks.  
> And look who's talking! and to clarify, The clogged throat feeling that Geoffrey had was psychosomatic, as in a physical ill caused by a psychological problem. That obviously being the trauma of his family's murder and the burning down of his home. However the muteness was caused by temporary brain damage by a thrall.  
> There was also an outbreak in October 1889-1890 (Russian flu) so chances are there actually wouldn't be any church services. But since a game About an influenza outbreak doesn't mention it we won't either.


	5. UPDATE: DIscontinued

Hey guys, so this Fic is not shaping out to what I thought it to be and so, I made the decision to scrap it. I am going to rewrite it but with a different name and a lot less filler chapters and I"ll leave this version up until I get This first four Chapters done. Also, Meant to be broken is going to updated again sometime this week. (Finally)  
Catch you all in the funny papers.

-Bee


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